


Impossible Things

by accioromulus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Get Together, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Marauders AU, Modern AU, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14485734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioromulus/pseuds/accioromulus
Summary: Sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. How he wants to pin Remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against Remus’s forehead, his jaw. Instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop in Remus’s denim jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s just drunk enough.“Stop stealing my bloody clothes, Lupin.” He says, very quietly.Remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “Better learn to do your own laundry then, Black. Consider it my fee.”***It was an impossible thing, living with Remus Lupin--but Sirius was doing it anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a joy to write. I hope it brightens your day.

Sirius arrives at the party two hours late and covered in snow. Facebook had suggested around thirty people were coming—a number which already threatened to overwhelm James and Lily’s tiny flat. When Sirius arrives at just past ten however, he immediately wishes he’d brought a sledge hammer, if only to make it past the front door. It’s clear that no less than fifty guests had burrowed their way inside. They stand in every corner, filling the narrow hallways and spilling out from every room, their faces vaguely familiar to him, their chattering bright and enthusiastic. Music drifts in from the sitting room, and it takes Sirius a moment to recognize it, bizarrely, as Christmas Carols, despite the New Years Eve decorations strung about the walls. He turns a corner, attempting suave and casual, but instead narrowly avoids a party-goer's over-enthusiastic elbow by crashing into Lily Evans.

“Oh, sorry Lily! Didn’t see you there.” He reaches out to steady her.

“Sirius!” She beams, looking as though she hadn’t even noticed her near-death experience. Her green eyes are a bit foggy, her cheeks flushed. She reaches out and wraps a hand around his neck, pulling him forward and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Glad you made it here safe. Quite the snow out there. Was traffic bad?”

“It’s New Years Eve,” Sirius replies with a shrug, watching her fondly. “Anyway, exactly who did you invite? Our entire grad class?”

Lily waves an impatient hand. “This is entirely James’s doing, I don’t even know half these people. Come now, he’s been waiting for you.”

She leads Sirius through the flat, her hand wrapped around his wrist the only reason they aren’t immediately separated by the sea of people around them. He follows her down the narrow hallway into her and James’s bedroom.

“James!” Lily calls, unnecessarily loud. “Guess who’s here?”

James’s head pops up suddenly from behind their bed, his glasses askew and hair completely beyond help. He beams at Sirius, makes an attempt to stand, and fails spectacularly.

“Padfoot!”

“‘Lo Prongs,” Sirius grins, tilting his head in James’s direction. “I don’t think you’ve invited enough people.”

James makes a face. “Can you imagine if we _hadn’t_ had this party? Clearly, there was no where else to go. Lily and I have been deemed heroes.”

Lily collapses onto the bed. “I am not looking forward to cleaning up tomorrow.”

“Don’t think about it.” James advises her sagely, carefully brushing her hair out of his eyes. After a moment of consideration, he slides off the bed in a distinctly boneless fashion, and disappears from view.

“If you ignore something, you no longer have to deal with it.” Sirius agrees. “This is a well-known truth.”

“Sounds like your general education plan.” Lily says.

“I think our only education plan in school was Remus.” James comments from somewhere beneath the bed. Sirius blinks.

“Are you looking for something, Prongs?”

James mumbles something indiscernible. 

Lily is apparently unfazed. “Say, have you seen Remus yet? Or Peter?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Only just got here.”

“I believe Peter is currently christening our toilet.” Comes James’s muffled voice.

“Eugh.” Lily replies.

 

 

Sirius elbows his way through the veritable sea of people, nodding and waving at familiar faces as he goes. He manages to squeeze his way into the kitchen, twelve pack in hand, where he makes the mistake of opening the refrigerator. By some small miracle, he manages to catch every single bottle than spills out to greet him. He stuffs them back in haphazardly before shoving his own beer inside, where it forms a precarious-looking tower that will probably prove fatal to whoever opens the fridge next. Sirius Black does not particularly believe in karma.

He twists the cap off his beer and tosses it into the over-flowing bin. Now that he’s no longer in mortal danger of being suffocated by old classmates or buried by alcoholic beverages, he realizes that the fridge door has already been covered in a collage of photos. He tips his beer against his lips with a smile. There’s several photos of James and Lily’s recent trip to Canada; a photo of all five of them on the day they graduated; an even more recent photo of them on the day they moved in.

There’s another photo here that Sirius particularly likes, of all of them at the beach last summer. Lily, looking a bit sun-burnt in an obnoxiously huge red hat they’d taken turns stealing all trip; James, an arm around her, hair wild and beyond all reason; Sirius next to him, sunglasses on, skin even darker than usual and looking especially cool—and Peter next to him, nose peeling, hair blonde as wheat, and utterly ruining the effect. On Lily’s other side is Remus, her arm around his waist, a genuine smile on his lips. That summer had been especially sunny for England; Sirius remembers being painfully distracted by how it had drawn out the freckles along Remus’s nose and shoulders.

It’s a good photo of them, Sirius thinks; he keeps meaning to get it off Facebook and put it up in his flat. His and Remus’s flat.

It had made sense at the time, Sirius stubbornly reminds himself.

He and James had moved in together immediately following their graduation, a plan that, objectively, was perfectly reasonable. They’d barely been living together a month when it became clear that they’d grossly miscalculated. It had been a ridiculous arrangement, because even though it was only Sirius and James’ names on the lease, about sixty percent of the time, there’d been two extra bodies attempting to live there with them.

At the time, Lily had technically been living with her parents. They’d charged her a low rent, and they were lovely people, but she, like all of them, wasn’t used to living with parents after attending boarding school for so long. Perhaps more importantly however, she and James were practically one soul in two different bodies, and squeezing together in his and Sirius’s flat was far more bearable than being apart.

Remus’s situation was only similar in the sense that he, also, was technically living at home. When they’d been sixteen, Remus’s mother had become ill and died all within a year. Sirius, James, and Peter had spent most of that year gently nudging Remus along, holding him up when he could no longer find the will to continue standing; finishing his homework for him when he couldn’t drag himself out of bed, or when they couldn’t find him. It had been James speaking quietly with their professors, wrangling longer deadlines or do-overs. It had been Peter, silently loading Remus’s plate with food and gently but firmly convincing him to eat. It had been Sirius, discovering Remus in hidden alcoves, his hands pressed over his eyes and silent—and it had been Sirius sitting quietly next to him, or pressing a hand to his shoulder, or leading him wordlessly back to bed. 

Remus had been close to his mother in a way that Sirius had envied, and desperately longed for. He had not shared that closeness with his father, and when Hope died, it had left Lyall hollowed out and empty in a way that Remus could not reconcile. Their relationship had grown stiff and polite, and being stuck in the house where his mother had grown sick and where his father wandered the halls in search of her ghost, was too suffocating for Remus to bare. He couldn’t afford to live by himself or stay at the university with Peter, and so instead he’d often slept on the floor of Sirius’ bedroom.

While neither he nor Lily technically contributed to the rent, they bought groceries, did the laundry, cleaned the apartment. They knew, and Sirius often suspected, had a private agreement, to provide for their keep in their own particular ways.

James and Lily hadn’t needed to tell Sirius their plans for domestic and private bliss; he’d seen it coming from the moment he’d woken up one day to find Lily making them all breakfast in their tiny kitchen, dressed in James’s football jersey. He’d spent the last three months of their lease convincing Remus to just _move the hell in with me, Moony, my god._ Remus had been hesitant, because his smaller budget meant they’d have to look at apartments that even Sirius could’ve afforded by himself. Sirius had waved this off every time, insisting he needed to ration his inheritance anyways. Meanwhile, Peter had watched all this nonsense with distant exasperation and immense gratitude for the existence of generous parents and student housing.

This was how Sirius had come to live with Remus Lupin. It had been an exceptionally poor idea, given Sirius’s wild and reckless feelings for the other boy. He was reminded of this each time he opened the door to find Remus crouched over their coffee table; every time their shoulders brushed as they passed one another in the narrow hallway; each time Remus brought him a cup of tea, or offered him a bite of his dinner, or walked him to the bus stop on his way to work. Every time he shot Sirius a mischievous smile, a gentle hello, something in Sirius’s chest shuddered, leaving him desperate and unhinged, euphoric and painfully unhappy. 

It was an impossible thing, living with Remus Lupin--but Sirius was doing it anyway.

 

He finds Peter draped tragically across the toilet, just as foretold.

“Oh, Wormtail,” Sirius says, patting the top of Peter’s head sympathetically. “Not even midnight, and you’re already puking your guts out. How very typical of you.”

Unable to form a proper retort, Peter flips a shaky but respectable two finger salute in Sirius’s direction.

“As stimulating as this conversation is,” Sirius tells the back of Peter’s head. “I have other matters to attend. Best of luck to you.”

He gives Peter another pat and escapes into the hall.

 

Some time later, feeing pleasantly fuzzy and unconcerned, he stops on his way to the bathroom to snag a glass of water and crackers. He takes a swig of beer and barrels head-first into the crowd.

“I’ve brought provisions.” Sirius announces as he enters the bathroom. Peter peers pitifully up at him from his spot on the floor. James is sitting in the bathtub next to Peter’s head, talking loudly on his cellphone.

“Who’s he talking to?”

“His mum and dad.”

“Oooh,” Sirius exclaims, setting the crackers and water next to Peter, who eyes them with ill-disguised suspicion. “James, let me talk to them.”

He reaches for the phone, but James bats his hand away.

“Yeah, you too, Mum.. Yeah, he’s here..” Sirius makes another attempt to retrieve the phone, and James scoots down the length of the bathtub to avoid him.

“They’re all here.. Well.. Yes, alright. Love you too.” Scowling, he hands the phone to Sirius.

“Hello, Mrs. Potter! Happy New Year!”

“Oh, you as well, Sirius, dear. How have you been doing? Are you and Remus all settled in your new place?”

Sirius picks at a spot on his jeans, smiling. “Yeah, he’s almost unpacked. He’s run out of room for his books; I keep finding them underneath my bed.”

Mrs. Potter’s delighted laugh sends a rush of warmth through his chest.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sirius. We miss you, all of you. We’ll have a family dinner some time soon, alright?”

“Just name the day, I’ll be there.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your party. We’ll see you soon, dear.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Potter.”

“Goodnight.”

Sirius tosses the phone back to James, who catches it with a grumble.

“She likes you better than me.”

“Of course.” Sirius replies sensibly.

“Where’s Remus?” Moans Peter. It’s usually Remus who tends to Peter when he’s in such a state.

“I brought you crackers. And water.” Sirius says, offended. “You know, Peter, sometimes I worry our friendship is one-sided.”

“What friendship?” Peter groans into the toilet bowel, tilting his head to watch Sirius through a single bleary eye. “You mean, the one where you leave me to rot alone with my head in a toilet?”

“I was under the impression that you were taking a well-deserved nap. If I’ve assumed incorrectly, I apologize.”

“God, the sincerity.” James hangs over the edge of the tub, fingers dangling above the floor tiles. “Go fetch Moony, would you, Black?”

“Bored of me already?”

“I want to have a.. chat.. with him.”

“What sort of chat?”

James waggles his eyebrows. Sirius and Peter exchange a dubious look.

“That’s not a response.”

“Go fetch.”

“I need more information.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you tomorrow,” James says. “When I’m not so drunk I can feel my own teeth.”

“That’s horrifying.” Peter says, not unkindly.

“Oh, Wormtail,” Comes a hoarse, sympathetic voice from the door-way. Sirius turns to see Remus, his curly hair ruffled, his eye dark with drink. “Do you need anything?”

“A priest.” Groans Peter.

“I already brought him crackers and water.” Sirius says, incredulous. He looks up at Remus, who’s face breaks out into a warm smile as their eyes meet. Something in Sirius’s chest hums pleasantly. “I hope he shows more gratitude towards you.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Remus says, and Peter makes a disgruntled noise into the toilet. “But what can you do?”

“You’re too kind.” Sirius says, and means it. Remus’s smile falters slightly. “How will he ever learn?”

“I am right here, you know.” Peter’s voice echoes into the toilet bowl. “I seem to remember various moments of kindness in our long and unhealthy friendships.”

“Poor Wormy.” James sighs, reaching out from the bathtub to awkwardly pat Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Peter. I remember.”

“Prongs, you’re kindness is duly noted. If you’d really like to prove your devotion.. You could bring me some bread.”

James considers this. “I’m not sure about that.”

“ _Crackers_.” Sirius whines. “Peter, there is a literal stack of _crackers_ that I _slaved_ over for you right next to your damn head.”

“You put them on the bathroom floor.”

“Oh, I forgot, you are truly the epitome of hygiene. Is that vomit on your chin?”

“How quickly we turn on one another in the face of adversity.” Remus says forlornly. “Peter, I will get you your bread. James, I’m assuming you’re a lost cause.”

“Frankly, I’m not sure what will happen to me if I leave this bathtub.”

“Of course. Sirius?”

Sirius reaches out a hand, and Remus hauls him up, his fingers hot against the skin of Sirius’s wrist. His hair is in a slight disarray, and he’s wearing a pale green shirt that matches his eyes—and, Sirius realizes suddenly, he’s wearing a pair of Sirius’s jeans. He reaches out a hand to steady himself against the wall. Remus shoots him the smallest frown and presses a hand to Sirius’s shoulder to help balance him.

“Don’t be too long now. I fear he has only minutes left.” James calls as they start down the hall together. As midnight approaches, party-goers have begun to drift out onto the balconies and to hover by the windows to catch better views of the fireworks. It means a less difficult journey for them to the kitchen, and they get there about forty-two minutes sooner than Sirius had expected. 

Remus leans his hip against the kitchen counter, dragging a hand through his tawny curls. He tilts his head towards Sirius and offers him a gentle, lop-sided smile. Remus’s eyes are too green, his freckles too dear, the angle of his collar bone disappearing beneath his shirt too sharp and too within Sirius’s grasp. The gentle hum of the party around them fades into something quiet, and this is not the sort of thing he was prepared for; not here, not in James and Lily’s kitchen, in the very center of a party.

“Alright, Pads?”

Sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. How he wants to pin Remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against Remus’s forehead, his jaw. Instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop in Remus’s denim jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s _just_ drunk enough.

“Stop stealing my bloody clothes, Lupin.” He says quietly.

Remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “Better learn to do your own laundry then, Black. Consider it my fee.”

Sirius snorts, letting his hand fall, and turns away from Remus to search through the cupboards. His fingers, he understands in the distant, uncomprehending way drunkenness often entails, are shaking. 

Sometimes, he wonders.

The issue isn’t that Remus has no interest in men. Remus likes girls, but he likes boys too—and Sirius has been riding the bisexuality train since before he can remember. The issue isn’t that, because in another world, if they’d met in a coffee shop, or a bar, or a grocery store, something might have happened between them. The _issue_ is that where James was his brother, Remus was his best friend, and he had always been—ever since the day James had dragged him over to the dining table and announced to a bewildered Sirius and Peter: “You will never believe what this kid just managed to pull on Filch,” and promptly forced a twelve-year-old Remus into the seat next to him.

They were all his family, and they still would’ve been, even if he’d had a real family to speak of. James, Peter, Lily.. And Remus.

It wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t even a possibility that Sirius could contemplate, in even the vaguest sense, because the idea of Remus’s rejection, and the subsequent slow, awkward, and heart-shattering dissolution of their friendship, makes his chest ache even more horribly than the gentle touch of Remus’s fingers against Sirius’s arm as he brushes past him.

“I say we bring him rye.”

“Don’t be cruel.” Remus reminds him as he reaches for the fridge.

“I wouldn't open that if I were you.”

Remus eyes him warily, his fingers hovering over the handle. “What did you do?”

Sirius flings a cupboard door open, the pounding of his heart an unsteady rhythm leading him to certain disaster. “Accidentally arranged the world’s worst game of Jenga. Ooh, is it too early for Cheesey Pasta?”

 

 

“There you are, Peter.” Remus says, carefully balancing three slices of white bread across Peter’s outstretched, waiting hand. “All better.”

“Where have you been all my life?” Peter mumbles.

Lily appears then, sliding an arm around Remus’s waist affectionately. He drapes an arm around her shoulder like it belongs there, accepting her sudden presence with hardly a glance.

“Hello all—Oh, Peter.” Peter, who appears to have lost all ability to respond in any vaguely human-related fashion, makes a groaning noise into the toilet by way of greeting. “Well, you’re nothing if not consistent.”

“What have you been up to?” Sirius asks.

“Great things.” Lily informs him. “I convinced Frank to run down to the store and use the rest of his savings to buy enough sparklers for everyone here. We have ten minutes to get downstairs, outside, and light them before midnight.” 

James and Sirius share delighted looks. Peter groans in protest.

“This is not optional, Peter.” James tells him, scrambling out of the bathtub. “I _will_ carry you myself.”

“ _I’ll_ carry you.” Sirius translates. “We all know Prongs played football for a reason. But I’d really rather not, Peter, so do us a favor and get on your feet.”

Peter shifts half-heartedly. He hasn’t vomited since Sirius first walked in on him nearly an hour ago—possibly, he was just comfortable where he was. Possibly, having his closest friends doting on him was good enough incentive for him to stay put. Sirius can hardly blame him.

They spend the next sixty three seconds poking, prodding, and yelling his name encouragingly, before he finally rises to his feet. James slaps his palm helpfully on Peter’s shoulder, causing poor Wormtail to nearly collapse — but it takes only a few more minutes for them to pile out of the toilet and march down the hall to retrieve their coats.

“Take this.” James shoves a violently neon coat at Remus. “You’re not freezing to death in my own yard.”

“You didn’t bring your jacket?” Asks Sirius, frowning.

“I forgot it at work.” Remus grimaces. “James, how in the hell have you not burned that monstrosity yet?”

“How in the hell did that thing get in my house?” asks Lily, bewildered.

James attempts to drape the coat across Remus’s shoulders, but Remus immediately ducks behind Peter. “You’re going to get hypothermia.” James insists.

“I am not wearing that.” Remus replies flatly. “Aliens are immediately going to abduct me. A _plane_ might land on me.”

“Is that the same material they make those bike reflectors out of?” Peter asks helpfully.

“Moony, don’t be daft.” Sirius says. “You’ll get pneumonia. Just wear the... Is it a tent, James?”

“Death is preferable.” Remus says. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re going to get sick. Sirius is a terrible nurse, just so you know.” 

“You don’t get sick from _temperature_. You get sick from _bacteria and viruses_.” Remus retorts with an eye roll so grand, Sirius is shocked his eyes don’t get stuck in the back of his head. “If there’s one thing I want to accomplish before I die, it’s to kill that line of logic.”

“Six minutes.” Peter reminds them as he zips up his coat. “Sirius, when Remus dies later this week, I will not be helping you clear out his books.”

“Please. They’ve invaded every corner of the flat, they’re practically sentient. At this rate, my only option will be to burn the whole building down.”

 

The party-goers have drifted out onto the street, the tiny lawn of the apartment complex about seven times too small for the massive crowd. Lily manages to find Frank and his many sparklers, distributing them amongst the five of them while shielding the tiny flame of her lighter from the stiff midnight breeze. Sirius barely has ahold of his for thirty seconds before he donates it to Marlene, who had been staring forlornly at her own sparkler lying dead in the snow. Someone shouts the time, and their massive group begins to murmur and shift in anticipation of the new year. Lily and James reach for each other, and Sirius whips his head up to find Remus a few feet away, shivering and happy, the orange light of sparklers casting warmth and light across his cheeks. He meets Sirius’s eyes and grins, and Sirius’s heart pounds fitfully in his chest. 

He crosses the distance between them, feeling light-headed and careless. “Alright, Moony?”

“I’m fucking freezing.” Remus replies, but he’s still smiling. His cheeks are flushed despite, or perhaps, because of the cold. Sirius shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You’re shivering. Want my jacket?”

Remus glances at the leather across Sirius’s shoulder with feigned disinterest. “I think it’s too late for me, and there’s no point in both of us being cold. Where’s your sparkler?”

Sirius makes a face. “I gave mine to Marlene. She dropped her's in the snow.”

“That was rather gentlemanly of you.”

Sirius scoffs. “I am a perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know.”

Remus’s eyes glitter. “You’ll forgive me if nearly a decade of friendship has led me to think otherwise.”

Sirius’s mouth feels dry, his tongue reckless. “Oh, I assure you Remus, you haven’t seen the worst of me.”

A long moment passes between them as Sirius’s heart thunders against his ribs. Remus’s eyes are dark, and strange, and after a beat, he opens his mouth to reply—but someone nearby shouts an update on the time and the mass of people begins to count down, startling them both. Sparklers wave around them, and Sirius joins in on the chant, because it’s the loudest distraction he can latch onto at the moment. Cries of _Happy New Year_ sound all around them, and Sirius turns back to Remus, finding the other boy’s gaze already on him. 

“Happy New Year, Remus.” Sirius says. Remus tilts his head at him. His green eyes are lit up with the golden light around them, bright and electric.

“Happy New Year, Sirius.”


	2. Chapter 2

Several days later, Sirius lays draped across the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach as he scrolls aimlessly through university websites. For the seventh time in the last half hour, he stares forlornly at his tea, which sits lonesome on the coffee table, about one and a half centimeters beyond Sirius’s reach. He glances at the clock in the corner of his screen—Remus should have been home forty minutes ago. He gropes for his phone, which is somewhere in the couch cushions, possibly. Hopefully. After several minutes, he unearths it, unlocking the screen and finding Remus still has yet to respond.

Their conversation so far, consisting only of Sirius’s texts, is as follows:

_5:27pm - when are you home_

_5:27pm - let’s do something_

_5:27pm - let’s go the zoo_

_5:28pm - or mini golfing_

_5:29pm - holy shit scratch that let’s go bowling do you want to go bowling_

_5:30pm - actually tbh this is not a debate we are going bowling_

_5:34pm - remus i feel as though your silence indicates that you are not that enthusiastic about my bowling idea_

_5:40pm - i spent thirty entire seconds of my good time coming up with this plan and what do i get from you??_

_5:50pm - pls note that all your belongings, including bed frame, can be found out by the trash bin, which coincidentally is your new home_

_6:07pm - are you dead in a ditch somewhere_

_6:13pm - oh my god do i need to bail you out of jail is it finally happening_

_6:30pm - i cannot believe this_

_6:42pm - LUPIN???_

 

Fifteen minutes from his last text, and still no reply. Sirius calls Remus, and yet again, it goes straight to voice mail. Logically, he knows that Remus’s phone is probably just dead—a chronic issue when it comes to Remus and his phone—but still, he should have been back by now. He finds James in his contact list and presses _Call_.

“Hello, Pads.”

Sirius groans by way of response.

“What?”

“I’m bored. Remus has gone missing. I think the Promised Day has come.”

“Oh, he was just here.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“Yeah, he was at that loose leaf tea shop down the road and stopped by. He wanted me to look at this paper he’s writing for class.” There’s a pause, and then the clattering of silverware somewhere in the background. “His phone was dead, but he left, I don’t know, twenty minutes ago?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I am—oh fuck— _trying_ to make Lily a nice dinner.”

Sirius momentarily panics as he tries to determine what special event he could have possibly forgotten. “What’s going on? Why?”

“Well, Sirius, sometimes, when you love and adore someone, you bestow unexpected gifts upon them—such as a delicious meal.”

“God.” Sirius says, both relieved and irritated. “What are you making?”

“It’s supposed to be some sort of.. Christ, I don’t know. Like, a medley.”

“What, like a casserole?”

“Yeah, that. It’s not going very well.”

Sirius closes his eyes. “This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had.”

“I could narrate for you.”

“Oh, fuck, no. Absolutely not.”

“Moony helped me find the recipe. I suppose that’s why it’s not going well so far, isn’t it?”

“Bleeding hell.”

“Right, so I’m trying to measure out this weird red seasoning that supposedly—”

“Goodbye, James. This has been the single most disappointing phone call I’ve ever had.”

“—but I think I may have used the wrong shaker thing, I mean honestly I’m getting very cinnamon-y vibes, but that can’t be right, can it—”

Sirius hangs up the phone.

He spends several seconds debating whether he should throw his phone across the room, but finally decides against it. His thumb hovers over Peter’s number as he glowers down at the long list of emoji’s next to Peter’s name. Just then, however, comes the sound of footsteps and the jangling of keys fitting to a lock. The door opens and Sirius sits up, his laptop sliding off his stomach and safely onto the couch. Remus has two overflowing paper bags balanced uncertainly in his arms, his cheeks flushed and purple shadows beneath his eyes. He kicks the door behind him closed before allowing the bags and their contents to tumble out of his arms and onto the counter.

“‘lo, Pads.” He calls, distracted with his attempt to both remove his boots and prevent several cans from rolling off the counter and exploding across the floor. Sirius excises himself from the couch and takes the three steps required to end up in their kitchen. He catches a rolling can as it makes its escape, and Remus looks up at him gratefully.

“Is your phone dead?” Sirius asks as Remus unzips his jacket. The neckline of his t-shirt dips slightly at his throat, revealing the pale slope of his collar-bone. Sirius drags his gaze back to Remus’s pale green eyes as he nods.

“I may have sent you several angry text messages.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you were dead somewhere.” Sirius complains only half-heartedly, pulling out the contents of the bags and arranging them in a disorganized pile. “You bought groceries?”

Remus grimaces. “Sort of.”

Sirius examines the contents of the second bag. “You bought more tea than actual food, didn’t you?”

Remus empties the contents of the second bag, and several small pouches tumble out. “Isn’t tea technically edible?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go bowling, but you look like you’re about to fall over. Are you alright?”

“Bowling?” Remus shoots him a wry smile as he tosses their groceries into various cupboards. All food in their kitchen is of the canned, boxed, and packaged variety. Lily is, quite possibly, the only reason they’re still alive.

“Yes. I spawned many fantastical plans while you were gone but—seriously, Remus, you look exhausted.”

Remus pushes a hand through his hair, tawny curls dark against his pale skin. “Yeah, I don’t know.. I feel sort of off.”

“Did you sleep alright?”

Remus nods. “Yeah, just woke up tired.” He sighs. “I think I’ll shower.”

“Want some tea?”

Remus shoots him a smile so grateful that Sirius may as well have offered to pay Remus’s rent for the rest of his life.

“Sirius,” Remus says, gaze rooting Sirius to the spot. “That would be incredible.”

 

 

The next day, Sirius comes home to discover a small tower of books stacked next to the door of their flat. He stares, with swelling incredulity, at the yellow sticky note stuck to the top-most book.

 

_Thanks for taking these off my hands Remus, you’re a life saver. Let’s grab coffee soon. Hope you enjoy!_

_\- Jess_

 

“Remus?” Sirius slams the door behind him. He tosses his coat onto the couch, glares at the twelve thousand books strewn across the living room that Remus hasn’t bothered to organize yet, and storms his way down the hall. “Remus,” He growls again as he approaches Remus’s closed bedroom door. He doesn’t bother knocking before throwing the door open and storming inside--and stops dead.

Remus is sprawled across his bed, shirtless and on his stomach, sheets tangled around his waist. He starts, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed, damp hair pushed all across his forehead. He looks miserable, and half-alive.

“Sirius?”

Sirius is frozen in the door way.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Remus groans weakly in response, burying his face in his arm.

“Sick. Up all night.” His voice is hoarse, and unhappy. “I think my skin is on fire. I _think_ I have just entered the fifth circle of Hell.”

“Christ, Moony, why didn’t you text me? I would’ve gotten you some pills or something.” Remus’s back is slick with sweat, his hair pushed up all around the back of his neck, like he’s been shoving it away. “Have you taken anything today?”

Remus shakes his head. “The only thing in our cupboards is dust and spiders, Pads.”

Sirius sighs, watching him fondly. Remus rarely falls ill, so when he does, it’s usually the most vengeful bugs that take him down. “I’ll be right back.”

 

While he runs a cloth underneath cold water with one hand, he rings James with the other. 

“Hey, Sirius.”

“Oh, hey, Lils. Where’s James?”

“He went out to grab groceries and left his phone here. Means he won’t have the list. By the time he walks through the doors, he’ll have forgotten why he’s even there.” There’s a muffled noise as she transfers the mobile to her other ear. “What’s up?”

“Remus is ill. He might be dying.” He frowns down the hall at Remus’s bedroom door. “Do you have any Ibuprofen we can borrow?”

“Of course. James took the car, but I could meet you half-way?”

“Are you insane? It’s blizzarding. I’ll come grab it from you. I don’t need two inept lumps to look after.”  Sirius carefully transports the dripping cloth down the hall. “Moony, here you go.. Just let me..” He drapes the cloth across the back of Remus’s neck, and Remus twitches.

“No, please, drown me. End my misery.” He squints at Sirius with cloudy eyes. “Did you perhaps leave a trail of small still-water pools on your way down the hall?”

Lily snorts into his ear. “Well, he’s still capable of snark. At least his mind hasn’t boiled over from fever.”

Sirius glowers down at Remus. “Listen, you ungrateful shit: I’m gonna run down to James and Lily’s and grab enough pills to medicate you into a coma. Do you want soup or something?”

“I’ll make him something. Make sure he eats, Sirius. And drinks. The more dehydrated he gets, the worse he’ll be.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “You’re as bad as James.”  


 

He returns an hour later with tomato soup, half the contents of Lily’s personal medicine cabinet, and various vitamin-C laden produce. 

“Cut up some cucumbers and lemon and throw them in a cup of water. It’s soothing for the throat,” Lily had instructed as she’d thrown a bag together. “And I know the bottle says only one every four hours because it’s ‘Extra Strength,’ or whatever, but give him two anyways.” 

“Thanks, Lily,” Sirius had said, accepting the bag gratefully. “I’ll grab you some cash when I’m over next.”

Lily had waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Text if you need any help, alright?”

 

He butchers the cucumber, and the lemon is reduced to a torn pulpy mass, but he shoves what he can into the glass, ice cubes nearly over-flowing out the top. He digs around in the cupboard and finds three bendy straws somewhere beneath the cutlery, adding one to Remus’s glass, and mentally filing away the location of the other two for later use. 

“Moooony,” He calls softly, pushing the door open, glass in one hand and bottle of pills in the other. Remus is laying on his back now, an arm thrust over his eyes, lips parted, breathing heavy. Sirius sets the glass on the table, hovering uncertainly. There’s no infirmary to take him to, no RA to ask for help. This is all Sirius.

“Remus, do you want some Ibuprofen?” Remus doesn’t move. “I’ve got some water.” The cloth Sirius brought him is lying unfolded across his chest, rising and falling with each breath. His hand hovers over Remus’s shoulder, uncertain, and then he touches him, gentle, pushing just enough to wake him. His skin is on _fire_.

Remus's lips part, and he makes a soft noise. “Hm?”

"I have Ibuprofen. And water." Sirius says quietly. 

"Oh," Remus replies, unmoving.

"Come on," Sirius murmurs, gentle, and Remus moves to sit up, balancing his head on his palms. "How are you?"

Remus just shakes his head, bleary-eyed, and Sirius hands him two pills and a glass of water. It's a testament to how truly ill Remus is that he doesn't comment on the colourful floating massacre within his water glass. He takes a small sip, staring with half-lidded eyes at nothing.

"Want a cold cloth?"

Remus's chin tilts slightly to the left, which Sirius takes as a yes. He peels away the cloth from the sheets where it's fallen (it's still soaking wet, but there's nothing cold about it), and takes it to the sink to rewet. He wrings it out before taking it back down the hall. Sirius lays it on the back of Remus's neck, and Remus makes a single blissful noise at this, causing something in Sirius's chest to flutter in an entirely undignified manner. 

"Need anything else?" Sirius says, sitting on the edge of Remus's bed. He knows he's being utterly ridiculous, that Remus is nearly twenty one years old and fully capable of wallowing in his own fevered agony, of getting his own medication and glasses of lemon-murder-water. In fact, if Remus wasn't nearly delirious with fever, he would probably recognize how unbelievably absurd this whole thing is too. 

Remus shakes his head, the heels of his hands pushed into his eyes, his sweaty hair wild around his forehead, around his ears. 

"Alright," Sirius says, easing his way off the bed. "I'm not going anywhere today, so just text or groan or throw something if you need me." 

But just as he moves to stand, there's a hand suddenly, fingers wrapped loose around his wrist. Sirius turns, heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest, and Remus isn't quite looking at him, his expression raw, and uncertain, like he isn't sure if he's even awake. His eyes are heavy-lidded, ringed with purple, and foggy. 

"Can you.." He swallows. His voice is hardly louder than a whisper, a series of cracks. "Stay for a bit?" 

Sirius stares at the fingers around his wrist. He feels dizzy. 

"Yeah, alright."

 

When Remus falls back asleep less than ten minutes later, Sirius inches carefully off the foot of the mattress (though, really, he doesn’t need to be quiet. Remus is practically dead), and creeps across the hall to his room. Minutes later, he returns, laptop in hand.

Remus’s bed is pushed up against the wall, the head of it set squarely in the corner. Usually, when Remus isn’t dying of plague, it’s covered in a heavy quilt his mother made him. Sirius scoops it up from the floor where Remus probably threw it in over-heated delirium, and crawls onto the foot of Remus’s bed. He leans with his back against the wall, knees propped at an angle to balance his laptop, and silently scrolls down Facebook as Remus pants and groans and tosses around next to him. Every half-hour or so, Sirius re-wets the cloth.

At some point, Remus’s fever turns, and he begins to shiver, curling in on himself and shaking, and Sirius drapes first the quilt, and then his own blankets, across him. 

And so, the evening passes.

 

***

 

Remus coughs, a dry, hacking noise, and Sirius glances up, popping a headphone out and tapping the pause button. Remus’s green-gold eyes blink back at him wearily.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asks quietly. “Do you want water, Moony? Or medication? What do you need?”

Remus shakes his head feebly. He’s quiet, for a moment, looking at Sirius. “You’re still here?”

Sirius frowns, suddenly embarrassed. “You asked me—” His voice stutters to a halt. “Want me to go?”

Remus shakes his head again. “What are you watching?” His voice is so quiet, Sirius has to focus on the movement of his lips to understand him.

“ _Parks and Rec._ Sorry, is the light bothering you? I can stop.”

Remus sighs, shoving some of the blankets away from his chest, so that his shoulders, his collar bone, are awash in the cool blue light of Sirius’s laptop. 

“Can I watch?”

Sirius blinks. It takes him a moment to soothe the thing that has gone a bit panicky in his chest. “Shove over, then.”

Sirius crawls his way up the bed and burrows forward, his one shoulder pressed up against the wall, his other shoulder pressed up against Remus. He settles the laptop between their stomachs, dimming the brightness even further, unplugging the headphones. Remus sighs again, his entire body relaxing back into the blankets, the bare skin of his shoulder, and his hip, pressing into Sirius. His skin is still warm, his breathing still ragged, and Sirius feels the edges of whatever’s left of his sanity begin to fray. 

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius whispers. 

But Remus is already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s James that wakes Sirius up, though clearly it wasn’t intentional. While something as innocuous as a cupboard closing can rouse Sirius, Remus can fall asleep in the middle of a concert—and so when James swears from Remus’s door way, Sirius is awake immediately, though bleary-eyed and confused.

“What the fuck?” Sirius grumbles, squinting and still half-asleep. “James?” Next to him, Remus shifts.

“Sorry, mate.” James says, leaning on the doorframe and biting his lip to keep his expression carefully neutral. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to get his left eyebrow under control; it’s arching so wildly it’s disappeared beneath his fringe. “I called, but your phone is dead, and I didn’t want to bother Moony.” 

“Keep your voice down,” Sirius hisses. His face is hot. “You’ll wake him.” But even as he says it, Remus stirs again next to him, and his eyes flutter open. 

“The hell, James?” 

“Hey Moony,” James says brightly. “I brought supplies. And a Lily.” He adds, as Lily appears behind his shoulder. Her mouth twitches.

“Good sleep, you two?”

 

Remus is huddled on the floor in front of the coffee table, his mother’s quilt draped across his shoulders and looking exhausted, but content. Lily sits on the floor across from him, quietly discussing her latest political science project.

“Is Peter coming?” Sirius is standing next to James, who is stirring the soup they brought as it bubbles overtop the stove. James nods. Glances at Sirius. Looks back at the soup.

“What?” Sirius demands, irritated. James rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be a toddler. Also—and I can’t believe I have to ask—but do you have any bowls?”

Sirius falters. “We had.. one, last I checked. Remus brought all his mugs over, though.”

James shakes his head. “Together, the two of you barely form one functioning human being. Alright, bring me the mugs.”

 

“Oh, brilliant.” Lily says brightly as Sirius hands her a mug of soup. “Now I know why you’re at our flat so often.” 

Sirius sits down cross-legged next to her, across from Remus.

“How’re you feeling?” Sirius asks, taking a sip from his mug and scalding most of his throat. 

Remus shoots him a ragged smile, eyes soft, and Sirius has to look down at his soup. “A bit better.”

“You’ll feel better once you have food in you.” Lily advises him gently. 

There’s a knock on the door, and before James can remove his oven mitts, Peter appears in the doorway. He stamps his boots on the mat, dusting snow from the blue hat Lily knitted him last winter, and stashes they keys Remus and Sirius had gifted him back into his coat pocket.

“Hello all,” He calls, and they greet him with a single jumbled chorus of his name. James promptly hands him a steaming mug, and the pair of them join the rest on the floor. The couch, Sirius muses, thread-bare and comfortable, was a thoughtful gift from his uncle, but unnecessary; either they all sat on the couch, or no one did.

Peter looks warily at Remus. “Don’t breathe on me.”

Sirius snorts. “If I’m not sick yet, you’ll be alright.”

“Hm,” Peter replies, unconvinced. “Anyway, I brought some movies, and popcorn. I thought we could have a movie night.”

“Yes!” Lily exclaims, clapping her hands together. She falters, glancing at Remus. “If you’re feeling well enough, Remus, of course.”

The tension in the room is practically physical as they all stare at Remus. He chuckles hoarsely. “Don’t let my impending death stop you.”

Peter and James argue over Peter’s allegedly poor choice in films for about ten minutes longer than Sirius has the attention span for. Finally, Lily catches his eye, and with a roll of her eyes, snags one of the DVD’s and shoves it into the DVD player. Peter and James put up a fuss, but once the opening theme of Howl’s Moving Castle begins to play, they’re lulled into silence. They’re sitting in a ridiculous conglomerate, the blankets he and James had dragged from Sirius’s room (Remus’s sheets were not to be trusted) draped across them in an utterly haphazard formation, several bowls of popcorn distributed between them. Next to him, Remus’s chin is balanced on his hands, eyes only half open, their shoulders pressed together.

“You’re not going to make it five minutes.” Sirius murmurs to him gently, and Remus barely manages to elbow him. 

“No faith in me.” Remus mumbles back. He straightens, making an attempt to revive himself, and Sirius ducks his head to hide his smile.

Barely five minutes later, Remus’s head droops. Sirius silently removes the popcorn bowl from his lap and says nothing at all.

 

 

Nearly a week later, by which time poor Moony had managed to regain at least some semblance of his former humanity, Sirius comes home to find a miracle in the form of Remus Lupin with a frying pan in his hand.

“Where did you even find that?” Sirius asks by way of greeting, pulling his scarf, (yet another present from Lily), away from his mouth. The moment he does, he’s greeted by the stench of burnt food. He wrinkles his nose at Remus, who turns to face him, looking both slightly panicked and utterly defeated.

“You’re home early.”

“Bar was dead.” Sirius shrugs his coat off. He raises his chin in an attempt to identify what Remus is failing to cook. “You know, Moony, I’m fairly certain if you set the flat on fire, we won’t be seeing our security deposit back.”

Remus sighs, poking the toxic-looking mass in the frying pan with a spatula. “I followed the recipe exactly. I’m the reason any of us passed chemistry. I can follow instructions. How is this so difficult?”

Sirius eyes the sludge with suspicion. “What was it?”

Remus sighs again, and the disappointment on his face, Sirius is surprised to note, is genuine. “It was supposed to be for you.” He scowls at the frying pan. Sirius blinks, confused.

“You’re making me dinner? That’s awfully domestic of you.”

“I was _trying_ to make you dinner. I mean, I suppose you could attempt to eat it, if you’re feeling masochistic. Lily insisted this would be fool-proof, even for me.”

Sirius, feeling faintly light-headed and more than a little confused, leans forward to inspect the mass further, hoping to find some redeeming qualities. He comes up empty. “Lily always did have too much faith in us. Moony, why, exactly, were you making me dinner?” In their decade long friendship, Remus had never once attempted to provide him with such an unwarranted.. delight? Horror? The longer he stares at the burnt food, the louder his confusion begins to clamor.

Remus is muttering to himself, irritated, pushing the blob around in the frying pan, as if willing it to shed its crusted, horrifying outer skin and reveal something edible beneath. He’s ignoring Sirius, but as is so often the case, this only makes Sirius push harder.

“Remus, are you ever going to tell me what I did to deserve you trying to poison me?” Sirius taps his fingers against the counter, his chin resting in the palm of his opposite hand as he watches Remus with an overwhelming sense of both befuddlement and fondness. Remus glances at him, then looks back to the frying pan.

“When I was sick..” He says finally, in a quiet sort of voice, not quite looking at Sirius. “... Well. Just wanted to thank-you, that’s all.” He gives the frying pan a half-hearted shake, then rolls his eyes, before turning and dumping its contents into the bin. “How about some toast? I could make some toast. Possibly.” His voice is light, but Sirius can tell how genuinely frustrated he is. Sirius meanwhile, feels utterly dazed.

“Don’t be stupid, Moony. You don’t need to thank me. And toast.. Seems a bit over-ambitious, doesn’t it?” 

Remus glances at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed, though with himself, the situation, or Sirius, it’s impossible to say. His cheeks are faintly pink, and he’s chewing on his lip, jaw tense. He’s embarrassed, Sirius realizes.

His eyes, Sirius can’t help but notice, are so very soft in this evening light.

“What was it supposed to be, anyway?” Sirius asks, because he’s been watching Remus for too long. Remus looks away.

“An omelette.”

Sirius’s cackle earns him an oven-mitt to the head.

 

Term begins again, and Remus begins spending more time away from the flat, either in class, working, or studying at the library. As the weeks pass, Remus’s assignments begin to pile higher, and Sirius comes home from work to find the other boy crouched over their coffee table more and more often.

Tonight, he manages to leave work just past two in the morning. Remus barely glances up from his laptop screen as Sirius kicks off his boots and hangs his coat on the hook. The other boy is cross-legged on the floor, fingers still on the keyboard as he rereads his essay for what is most likely the thirty seventh time. He’s wearing a knit green jumper that Sirius likes because it brings out his eyes, and his curly hair is in utter disarray, because, as Sirius knows, he’s probably been pulling at it. He puts the kettle on before he eases his way down onto the floor next to Remus.

“How was work?” Remus murmurs, even as he deletes and replaces several words.

“Good.” Sirius leans close to study Remus’s screen. He’s added several new pages since yesterday. “How’s your essay?”

Remus deletes an entire paragraph in answer, treating his keyboard as aggressively as Sirius has ever seen him treat anything. He grins. “Want me to take a look at it?” 

Remus waves a hand, indicating the far-reaching depths of his disinterest, and Sirius slides the laptop towards him. He often offers to read Remus’s work, not because Remus needs the help, but because typically, he’s so obviously in need of a break. He skims the first few pages, having already read them enough times that he practically has them memorized. The extent of Sirius’s knowledge regarding the Russian Revolution begins and ends with the beloved animated film, Anastasia, so there is little for him to do in the way of fact-checking. He can however, keep an eye out for any spelling or grammatical mistakes that an overly-sleepy Remus might let slip—and provide some small measure of encouragement.

“I really like this bit,” Sirius murmurs, pointing out a newer paragraph. “The way you worded it.. You have this knack for making even the most convoluted, driest nonsense into something worth reading, Remus.”

“The Russian Revolution is actually quite interesting.” Remus objects, forever unable to accept a compliment. He looks slightly cheered, however, as Sirius hands the laptop back to him. His eyes dart across the page as he rereads yet another paragraph, and sighs deeply before rubbing his eyes. “I suppose it’ll seem less hopeless in the morning.”

Sirius leans back, tilting his head and leveling Remus with the most serious expression he can muster so close to 3:00 am. “Exactly. And anyway, Remus, you should get some sleep. The longer you stare at it, the worst it’ll seem.”

Remus makes a non-committal noise and lowers his cheek into the palm of his hand, matching Sirius’s gaze, utterly exhausted. He studies Sirius’s face like it’s a comfortable resting place for his eyes, which are soft and fond in the pale light. It’s a look that makes Sirius’s chest sting painfully, acutely, even as he finds he cannot look away from it. It’s a look that forces him to use every ounce of shaking resolve within him not to close the gap between them.

Remus’s lips part, as if he’s about to say something, and all at once, the air between them sharpens into something electric, and dangerous. The world whittles down to just the two of them; to the freckles dusted across Remus’s cheeks, the gentle slope of his neck—the inches between them.

Every part of Sirius _aches_.

The seconds stretch long and hungry, and Sirius thinks about all the things he wants to do to the skin below Remus’s jaw. He thinks about how it might feel to press his lips to the corner of Remus’s mouth. Instead, he asks, mouth dry: “Tea?”

Remus’s eyes drop from his. He nods. Sirius wanders into the kitchen, dazed and feeling as though his insides have been stuffed with cotton. He’s suddenly bone-tired, just this side of delirious with exhaustion; just mad enough to do something he should not, cannot do. He lingers by the tea mugs longer than is necessary, feeling on edge and electric and desperately unhappy.

He abandons Remus’s mug on the coffee table, mumbles his good night, and crawls into bed, where he proceeds to bury his face in a pillow and spend the next hour miserably inventorying every useless detail about the Russian Revolution he can recall.


	4. Chapter 4

Several days later, Sirius is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a rather haphazard-looking list of several different university courses scrawled onto lined paper before him, when Remus clatters through the door.

“Hey, Moony.”

“Padfoot,” Remus greets him, but there’s a set to his mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, that makes something flutter uncomfortably in Sirius’s chest.

“What is it, Remus? What’s wrong?”

Remus’s jaw works, like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. He shakes his head, reaches into his pocket, and extracts a letter. Sirius’s heart thuds uncomfortably.

“It’s for you.” Remus says quietly, extending the letter to him.

Sirius untangles himself from his spot on the floor and accepts the letter, turning it over. There’s no sender information, only Sirius’s name and address. He stares at it, very hard.

“Want me to open it?” Remus asks quietly.

Sirius shakes his head. He feels somehow both intensely numb and horribly on edge. He peels open the flap of the envelope and removes the paper from inside. It takes him only a few seconds for the words, written in curling gold lettering, to make sense to him. He scoffs in disgust and tosses the letter onto their kitchen counter, shaking his head.

“It’s a wedding invitation. Narcissa is getting married.”

“You’re joking.” Remus picks the invitation up, disbelieving.

Sirius shakes his head again, staring at it. He’s disgusted. He’s angry. He’s so, so tired.

“It’s not really an invitation.” He says, unnecessarily, because Remus already knows his family, and understands what this is—but saying the words out loud make them real. “She only sent it so that I would know I wasn’t invited. Just one more family event I’m not welcome to, just one more reminder that..” 

“She didn’t put the return address on it, because she wanted you to open it. How did they even find our address?” Remus murmurs, not quite with disbelief--because there was nothing surprising about this, especially when his family had committed far worse acts against him. Against them all. It was perhaps a sort of disappointment, that this was still something that, so many years later, they could still come home to. That even after so many years, they still could not let Sirius go. He turns the invitation over and over in his hands, as if the truth of it might transform into something less spiteful.

“Good ol’ Cissy.” Sirius says. He closes his eyes. The old anger, the resentment, the bitter sadness that accompanied all reminders of his family, required more energy that this ridiculous, petty piece of paper deserved. He’d spent all his childhood with that anger, and that bitterness. Now, it just made him tired. “Well.” He doesn’t know what else to say. There were no more words; he’d used them all up, repeated them, twisted and turned them around. He’d long since grown tired of the sound of his own bitterness. 

He meets Remus’s eyes.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

 

 

When he wanders back into the kitchen, the ends of his hair damp against the nape of his neck, the letter is nowhere to be seen. He recognizes the tugging impulse to crawl into the nearest bed and allow it to absorb him, but Remus tosses a coat at him, and speaks, his tone kind, but leaving no room for argument.

“Come on. We’re going out.”

Sirius is content to allow Remus to lead him wherever, his mind quiet and dull. They trudge in silence down the sidewalk, and it doesn’t take long for Sirius to recognize where Remus is taking him.

A half hour later, James opens the door of his and Lily’s apartment, clearly having been expecting them.

“If you think you’re bringing that slush into this house—God, you two are utterly uncivilized, aren’t you? I never should have allowed you to move in together.”

Remus tosses his coat at James’s head with practiced ease, and James’s grumbling are momentarily muffled as he attempts to free himself. Lily’s head appears from around the corner, flour on her cheek. She winks at Sirius.

“Something to eat, love?”

 

Peter arrives soon after. No one mentions the letter, and Sirius is grateful. It’s a pointless thing to discuss and dissect. The only option is to plough right through it, to put it out of his mind. After all, the remedy for the family he was born into is before him in the form of the family he’d chosen for himself. He allows them to smother him with their kindness and understanding and their love for him. Sometimes, he worries he is too selfish with their love—but today, he understands there is no such thing. He soaks in Lily’s gentle touches to his shoulder, Peter’s banter, James’s threats to evict him from their apartment if they doesn’t purchase legitimate cutlery in the next week.. Remus’s hoarse laugh, and his steady presence next to him. His gentle eyes.

They spend the night gorging themselves on popcorn and Lily’s baking, huddled on the floor watching a series of laughably terrible horror movies. They fall asleep like that, in an absurd and comfortable pile on the floor. In the morning, James and Lily fashion them a spectacular breakfast. Leaning against the doorframe, Sirius watches them shifting and moving around one another, handing each other spatulas and spices and all manner of things that mystify Sirius and cause Remus to groan with jealousy. At one point, he and James pile on Peter in an effort to rouse him from his curled-up position in the armchair, apparently shattering several of his ribs and all their good fortune. They gather around the dining table to eat, and an uproar is caused when they discover there’s only four available dining chairs (the fifth and sixth having been inexplicably missing since the New Years Party). Peter wryly proposes that Remus and Sirius share a seat, the suggestion leaving Sirius caught somewhere between the desire to slide boneless onto the carpet, and the need to remove Peter’s limbs from his torso. Fortunately, Lily, having long-ago reached the pinnacle of wisdom, manages to locate an extra stool. They devour the breakfast in under ten minutes and spend the rest of the hour hurling banter and affection back and forth across the table.

 

Noon arrives, and they gather in the hallway. Sirius is watching Remus pull on his coat when James’s arm comes around Sirius’s shoulder. He leans forward, their heads close together, almost conspiratorially.

“Alright, mate?” James says, very quietly.

James’s arm is heavy across his shoulder, and reassuring. Lily, her hair untidy and in James’s football jersey, stands next to Peter, who is muttering something to Remus with a sly grin, making Remus laugh. 

Sirius meets James’s eyes. 

“Yes.” He says, and means it.

James dips his head and nods, giving Sirius’s shoulder a final squeeze. He slides his arm from Sirius, hand snaking out to make an absolute disaster of Sirius’s hair and effectively shattering their decade-long friendship. Of course, the only suitable response to this is grabbing a fistful of James’s collar and yanking James forward at what he hopes is a painful angle. Their scrapping lasts all of thirty seconds before Remus is yanking them apart with the look of a man who has long since resigned himself to the impossibility of ever living a peaceful life in the company of his friends. Peter chuckles next to Lily, who is holding Sirius’s coat out towards him, looking perfectly unfazed. He takes his coat, meeting James’s eyes. They share a grin that starts off goofy, but softens into something warm, and affectionate. James winks at him. From men, to boys, and back again, as simply as that. 

Remus claps him on the shoulder, steering him out the door. Sirius puts up a fuss as Remus calls over his shoulder, “Got to get him back to the pound by one or they won’t take him back—I’m sure you understand.”  
Sirius waves at the three of them as Remus deposits him out the door. He grins cheekily as Remus pulls his hat over his curly hair, rolling his eyes and smiling.

The walk back to their flat is quiet and comfortable. It’s early; the sky is the soft grey of February mornings, and they’re the only people who seem willing to brave the chilly outdoors. The streets are bathed in pale light, and snowflakes drift lazily down from above. Remus is a mismatch of colours on this quiet street--his tawny hair beneath the burgundy of his hat, his soft eyes and softer smile. He feels Sirius staring and turns. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed and ever so slightly concerned.

Sirius ducks his head and turns his gaze forward. He’s been reckless lately. Too reckless. He needs to reign himself back in, get a hold of himself. 

This is impossible, he thinks. It’s utterly impossible, to be around Remus, to walk and eat with him, to come home every night to find him on the floor of their living room, working himself late into the night.

He’d thought he could do this; he’d done it for so long—but that was when Peter and James and even Lily, had been around. Now, there was nothing to distract him from the way Remus looked in this pale morning light, as they walked back to their flat. _Their_ flat.

Living with Remus Lupin was an impossible thing; it stung, a vivid and acute pain, sharp and singing and electric—but the idea of not living with him, now, after the gift of Remus’s sleepy smile on his way to the kitchen in the morning, after tripping over so many stacks of books so many times..

There was impossible—and then there was worse. 

There’s snow falling gently all around them, landing in the hair that has escaped Remus’s hat. He looks tired and warm, bundled up as he is, his cheeks faintly pink. He turns those gentle eyes on Sirius, and asks quietly, “Alright, Pads?”

Sometimes, Sirius feels as though all he’s ever wanted were impossible things. 

“Yes.” He says, even though he isn’t. “Listen, Moony, thanks for bringing me. I appreciate it.”

Remus shrugs, still with that deliberately mild air. He turns his gaze back to the road.

“When my mum--” Remus hesitates, and then says, carefully, as if he’s having trouble deciding on the right words: “Well. You took care of me.”

Sirius’s gaze whips to Remus.

Remus’s eyes are on the road ahead, far away from Sirius. There’s snow all around them, snow in his hair, and Remus is saying all the right things, and somehow making everything about this so unbearably hard. Sirius’s chest aches, his eyes are stinging, and he doesn’t understand why. He presses the heel of his hand into his eyes; takes a single, steadying breath.

He turns his gaze back to the road. 

Impossible.


	5. Chapter 5

Several days later, Sirius barely has the key in the lock when his phone begins ringing. He does a frantic dance as he attempts to open the door whilst answering his phone, nearly dropping the groceries. 

“Prongs,” He growls, depositing the bags onto the counter. From down the hall, he hears Remus call out a greeting.

“Padfoot,” James replies, breathless. “Sirius. Listen..”

Sirius stills. “Are you alright? You sound a bit mad.”

“I’ve done something.”

Sirius leans against the counter. “What, do you need bail money?”

“ _Sirius_ ,” James says, impatient. 

“ _What?”_ Sirius rolls his eyes, rearranging the groceries along the counter.

“I.. I’ve done it. She said yes.”

Sirius’s hand, curled around a tomato, freezes.

“You _what?_ I thought you were going to wait until—”

“ _I know_ ,” James says, suddenly speaking very quickly, as though he’d kept the story pent up and now couldn’t wait another moment longer. “But I just woke up this morning, and I looked at her, and I thought, honestly, I love her, Sirius, I love her so much, and I thought, I could wait until spring, and take her out like I planned—or I could just do it, right now, in this home that we’ve made, and wouldn’t that be alright, too? So I made her this dinner, and it wasn’t bad actually, and then I just did it, and she said _yes_.”

It takes a long moment to sink in—and then he laughs, a bark of pure joy.

“ _James_.”

“ _I know_ , mate.” He can hear the laughter, the genuine happiness in James’s voice.

“Holy shit. Holy _shit_.”

He can barely contain himself. He whoops, grinning so hard his face feels as though it may crack in half with the joy of it. “Give her the phone, I have to talk to her.”

“She’s on the phone with her mum, but I’ll tell her to call you when she’s done.” 

Sirius dashes down the hall, throwing Remus’s bedroom door open. Remus is sitting cross legged on his bed, laptop across his knees. He looks up at Sirius curiously, removing a headphone.

“Why do you look like you that?”

“James and Lily are engaged.”

Remus’s mouth falls open. “But I thought he was going to wait until—”

“Impulsive little git, isn’t he?” Sirius says gleefully, ignoring James’s offended squawk.

Remus immediately reaches a hand out, and Sirius tosses him the phone. He proceeds to bob around the room as Remus, beaming, congratulates James.

After several minutes, they say their goodbyes. Sirius, quivering with joy, cannot bring himself to sit. If there was more than three feet of free space in their flat, he might have been performing several gymnastic moves far beyond his skill set. He meets Remus’s eyes, and they share a grin, happiness for their friends lighting up Remus’s face. 

“God,” Remus says, resting his chin in his hand. “I remember when she first told him to stick his head in a toilet.”

“And look at them now.” Sirius collapses onto the foot of Remus’s bed, having run out of floor to pace. “We’ve truly seen it all, haven’t we?”

Remus gives him a lop-sided smile, dear and comforting, and the effort it takes for Sirius to still his hand, to stop himself from sliding his fingertips across Remus’s jaw, is exhausting. “Are you _still_ working on the Russian history paper?”

“It’s due in an hour, so technically, I shouldn’t be.”

Sirius makes a grab for the laptop, but Remus, well-versed in the art of avoiding Sirius’s thievery, holds the laptop just beyond his reach. “You’ll go mad reading that thing. I’m surprised you haven’t started speaking Russian. If you don’t get full marks, I’ll burn the university to the ground.”

“I’ll be sure to include that.” Remus replies, eyes darting across the screen. Sirius watches as he slowly slides back into work mode, his awareness of the world slipping around him, focus narrowing solely to the words on the screen before him. He looks achingly, stunningly academic like this, sitting cross-legged on his bed, laptop resting on his knees and curls pushed away from his face. His lips part as he reads, lashes lowered over freckled cheeks. Sirius knows he should probably give Remus time alone with his work, but he can’t bring himself to leave just yet. Instead, he leans back against the wall, long legs crossed, and sits in comfortable silence next to Remus. He’s stuck on a memory, his mind replaying it, dissecting it; the memory of James, moments after Lily first agreed to go out with him. He’d been grinning, broadly, foolishly, as Sirius, Peter, and Remus danced and crowed and whooped in circles around their dorm room. It is as clear a memory to him as if it had happened only hours before. 

He remembers the transformation of Lily’s disdain into begrudging tolerance; from tolerance, to reluctant fondness. He would have bet every ounce of his inheritance against Lily agreeing to go out with James--and yet, here they were now, committing to a life together, and Sirius believed without a doubt that they would find that life, and live it happily, and proudly, and that he would get to see it all. It had been such an impossibility for so long, and yet now, it was their future, real and unquestionable, and unthinkable for it to have happened any other way.

Sirius remembers laying here, in this bed, with Remus’s shoulders pressed into his, his hips and his fever-slick skin hot against Sirius’s own. He remembers Remus’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, asking him to stay.

He remembers everything.

“Just one.. more.. moment. There.” Remus’s head drops into his hands. “It’s submitted, I just got the confirmation. I never have to type the word _bolshevik_ again.”

“Don’t jinx yourself.” Sirius advises him.

“Thank-you for all the help,” Remus says, shooting him a grateful look. “I almost thought I’d never finish.”

Almost. Sirius remembers every almost they’d ever had, all the almosts shivering in the air between them.

He _remembers._

Remus’s laptop is still open in his lap. Wordlessly, Sirius reaches for it, closes it, and carefully slides it onto the floor. Remus shoots him a questioning look.

“Sirius?”

His name is a question that Sirius doesn’t know how to answer, but one that he wants to, desperately. Wordlessly, he shifts so that he’s across from Remus, so close that their knees are touching. Remus’s face is carefully neutral, but Sirius hears his breath quicken, can see the quivering of Remus’s pulse against his throat. With the utmost care, he takes Remus’s hands in his, and Remus lets him. Sirius studies the pale freckles gathered at his knuckles, noticing the places where they skip across the fine bones of his hands, abandoning the skin of his palms to dust across his forearms. He turns Remus’s hands over in his, watching the wild flutter of his pulse against the thin skin of his wrist, and wonders what it would be like to kiss him just there; to have the evidence of Remus’s heartbeat beneath his mouth.

He lifts Remus’s wrist to his mouth and kisses that place, kisses that flickering pulse.

Remus’s eyes flutter shut.

Sirius lowers their hands and leans forward, but only just, so that their foreheads are nearly touching, so that they’re breathing the same air. Remus opens his eyes, and the fracture lines in Sirius’s resolve appear at a catastrophic rate.

Remus’s eyes are half-lidded and dark, dark, dark. He reaches out and grabs hold of the collar of Sirius’s shirt, maybe to steady himself, maybe to bring Sirius closer, which he does, so that their foreheads press together, so that if Sirius moves even an inch, he could change everything, if he wanted to.

And Sirius wants everything.

When Sirius kisses him, it’s wild and dizzying and electric. 

It’s a relief.

His hand finds Remus’s hip, steadying the both of them as Remus pulls on the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. Remus’s mouth is warm and wonderful beneath his as he curls his fingers into the denim at Remus’s hip, the other finding its way to Remus’s jaw. They break apart, foreheads pressed together, dazed and breathing hard, and Remus is looking at him with such undisguised want that Sirius can hardly catch his breath.

It’s too much, and not enough, and he needs more.

Dazed and wanting, he pulls Remus close, and when he presses his mouth to Remus’s, it’s with a hunger he can no longer leash. Remus’s mouth parts for him, hot and waiting, and Sirius gives up any pretense of control. Kissing Remus is like breathing, like remembering _how_ to breathe—and Sirius has been drowning for a very long time. 

He’d thought he known every one of Remus’s angles, every slope and narrow edge, but his roaming hands discover unfamiliar territory. The sharp slice of hip bone beneath his hand, the curve of spine, arching to meet him. His fingers move from the back of Remus’s neck to the curls of his hair and tug, so that Remus’s neck arches back, leaving room for Sirius to mark a path from his jaw to his collar-bone.

Remus’s hand abandons purchase in Sirius’ shirt, instead slipping beneath the fabric to drag fingertips across Sirius’s ribs. Sirius shudders, stilling for a moment and breathing hard into Remus’s shoulder, the feeling of Remus’s fingers on his skin demolishing every coherent thought left in his brain. His heart pounds heavily in his ears as Remus drags his mouth across Sirius’ throat, and Sirius tilts his head back, eyes closed, mouth parted, reverent.

“How long?” Remus gasps against Sirius’s jaw, and the question confuses him, the english language a foreign concept to him with Remus’s hands gliding across his ribs.

“What?” Sirius gasps, his fingers seeking, his mouth hungry.

“How long?” Remus repeats, mouthing the words against Sirius’s throat.

This time, words find their meaning. “Forever,” Sirius breathes, fingers curling in Remus’s sweater. “Forever.”

And then Remus yanks upwards on the tail of Sirius’ shirt, pulling it up and over, and Sirius stops thinking about anything at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drew a little something as a thank you for reading! Head on over here to see it: http://accioromulus.tumblr.com/post/173439960945
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoyed.

James can scarcely remember being so happy.

From behind him, Lily gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and he reaches for her hand. Her ring flashes delicately in the light of the kitchen as he pulls it close, kissing her fingers. He smiles softly against her knuckles, and she squeezes his hand, bestowing a kiss on his head and slipping her hand from his grasp. He watches her pour wine into glasses at the kitchen counter, then turns his head towards the living room, where Remus and Sirius sit on the squashy couch across from Peter, who’s taken up residence in his favourite arm chair. Seeing the three of them, his brothers, his family, only adds to his sense of giddy buoyancy.

It’s almost surreal, seeing Remus and Sirius like this. They’re pressed together on the couch, Sirius’s feet in Remus’s lap, which is not entirely unusual; what is unusual, however, is the way that Remus’s head occasionally dips close towards Sirius to rest against his shoulder, or the way that Sirius’s fingers trace lazy patterns down Remus’s forearm, with an ease and affection that is familiar to him. He grins foolishly at Lily as she hands him two wine glasses. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head but unable to hide her own smile as she turns to gather the rest of the glasses. They distribute the wine amongst everyone before squishing together on the tiny love-seat, James sliding his arm around Lily’s waist.

“We’re saving the real drinking for the engagement party, right?” Sirius clarifies.

“Of course,” Lily replies. “This is strictly a celebratory toast.”

James clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m about to be painfully embarrassing, but under the circumstances, I don’t see any way around it. Credit where credit is due, and all.” James raises his glass. “You guys have been there through it all. You’ve seen me through the rejections, the dates, the moving in, and now, an engagement. I’m a lucky man, to have grown up with you all. I’m lucky to know you.” He meets each of their eyes in-turn. He expects one of them to make a joke of it, but they don’t, and he’s grateful for it. Maybe, even proud. “Tonight, we’re celebrating not only mine and Lily’s engagement, but Sirius’s acceptance into school for the fall.” Sirius rolls his eyes good-naturedly at this. Sirius may shrug his own accomplishments off, but they all know, of course, that this was no small thing for him--nor was it a small thing for them to express their pride. “And also, the fact that you two idiots finally sorted yourselves out.”

“So eloquent,” Lily says, an eyebrow raised, and the five of them exchange grins.

“To this next chapter,” He says, and they raise their glasses, mirroring him. “To our futures. And to us, and this family of ours.”

 

***

 

 The moment they tumble through the flat door, Sirius whirls on Remus, pressing him into the closet and capturing his mouth in his. Remus grins into their kiss as Sirius makes quick work of their jackets. Kissing Remus is like waking up, every part of Sirius coming alive and aware and wanting. He still feels as though he’s walking around in a daze, almost unable to believe that he has regular access to Remus’s lips, Remus’s skin.

“Been thinking about this—” Sirius murmurs against the other boy’s lips. “—All evening.”

_Been thinking about this for years_. 

Remus leans his head backwards, revealing the pale line of his throat, and Sirius takes advantage, working dark marks into the place beneath his jaw.

His hands find their way up Remus’s jumper, fingers skipping across his stomach to spread wide across his ribs, pinning him in place. Remus sighs in a way that makes Sirius want to yank the damn jumper over his head, kitchen be damned. Not that the kitchen itself was much of an issue--there was hardly a square foot of space in the entire flat that hadn’t been privy to some very private goings-on between the two of them. It was more that mattresses were far more comfortable than the kitchen counter.

Remus appears to be having the same thought. “My bed,” He pants, fingernails digging into Sirius’s waist beneath his shirt. “Is right there, you know.” He kisses Sirius in earnest, and Sirius allows himself to be led down the hall.

They collapse in a tangle atop Remus’s bed. Sirius yanks the other boy’s shirt up, trailing kisses across his chest, down the sharp angle of his hip bone, working at the button of his jeans and yanking down his boxers. Remus breathes his name, then gasps sharply as Sirius lowers his mouth, taking him in. He pins Remus’s hips to the bed with his palms, and Remus swears, burying his fingers in Sirius’s hair, watching him with glassy-eyed astonishment. Sirius loves him like this, dark-eyed and wanting, pulling at his hair, breathing hard and gasping out Sirius’s name like a prayer. Remus’s free hand scrambles for purchase along the head board, the blanket, the back of Sirius’s neck, and he throws back his head as Sirius works him over, digging marks into the flesh of Remus’s hip. Sirius moves with a rhythmic intensity, swallowing, bobbing, moaning around Remus, every noise a demand for Remus to look at him. Remus’s hips jerk under Sirius’s hands, and Sirius can’t help but buck into the mattress beneath him when Remus looks at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed, teetering on the edge. Sirius reaches out to drag his fingernails along Remus’s ribs, and the other boy bucks hard, unable to stop the ragged gasp that falls from his mouth. When Remus comes, it’s with his hand curled possessively around the back of Sirius’s neck, shuddering, and Sirius moves with him through it, coaxing out every last gasp of pleasure.

“Get up--Get up here.” Remus breathes, pulling Sirius up to kiss him, open-mouthed and desperate. “Sit up.” Remus tells him, and Sirius does, straddling Remus, his thighs slung over the other boy’s hips, hovering over Remus’s lap. He watches in awe as Remus pulls at Sirius‘s shirt, yanking it over his head, nails dragging over Sirius’s ribs. Without pause, Remus kisses him again, fiercely, fingers working at the zipper of Sirius’s jeans and pulling them down. Remus drags his teeth across Sirius’s jaw, his throat, his collarbone, and Sirius’s head falls back, fingers winding encouragingly through Remus’s hair. Remus moves with agonizing slowness, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down Sirius’s chest, palming Sirius through his boxers--and then Sirius is hissing as Remus’s mouth, hot and wet, finds its target, and Sirius reaches out to the wall to steady himself. He cannot take his eyes off Remus, can’t help the bucking of his hips as he slowly fucks Remus’s mouth, the feel of Remus’s hands on the small of his back, his hips, his thighs, the press of the other boy’s fingers as they grip his skin driving him wholly out of his mind. 

Remus makes a low, soft noise, and looks up at him, eyes nearly black, a ring of green and gold around blown-out pupils, and Sirius is sent tumbling over the edge, his fingers buried in Remus’s hair. When he’s done, Remus grins up at him, wicked, and plants kisses across his stomach while Sirius leans heavily into the wall, breathing hard.

He pulls Sirius down onto the bed with him, laughing breathlessly, joyful and vibrant, and Sirius finds he can’t help himself. He buries his face in the crook of Remus’s neck, leaving soft, tender kisses there, curling a hand around his hip, pulling him in close. Remus strokes the back of his neck, feather-light touches that could send Sirius to sleep if he does this long enough. For a long time, they stay like this, curled into one another, breathing soft. Sirius is hovering on the nearest edge of sleep when Remus taps his fingers against the nape of Sirius’s neck in a gentle bid for his attention. Sirius tilts his head, using his elbows to prop himself up.

Remus’s expression is open, and thoughtful, and he’s watching him with that quiet contentment that Sirius is still getting used to being the source of. Remus’s lips part, but the words falter on his lips, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of a late night not-so-long ago, when they’d sat on their floor in front of a coffee table, everything they couldn’t say hanging between them. He chases away the memory by pressing a soft kiss to the other boy’s lips.

“I’m in love with you, you know.” Sirius murmurs. Remus laughs, that breathless, tinkling laugh. These days, he always seems ever-so-slightly surprised, treating every kiss as a shocking delight, an unexpected gift.

“That's convenient,” Remus says, and if Sirius could live forever in this moment, he would. “Considering I'm in love with you too.”

Sirius is going to memorize every single freckle, every fleck of gold in those impossible, wicked eyes. He grins.

"Lucky me."


End file.
